One Man's Trash Is Another Man's Treasure

I ignored the pleading and pained look in Jim's eyes.

"Make some arrangements, Dad. Let's not let the public see our family's dirty laundry," I said.

When I returned to my room, I saw the walls were lined with dozens of portraits. They were all men whom my father had carefully selected as potential marriage candidates.

The candidates consisted of trust-fund heirs, rising business moguls, and up-and-coming political elites, among others. I walked straight toward the most inconspicuous portrait tucked away in a corner.

It was of Luke Larson. He was the city's most notorious trust-fund playboy—a spendthrift with a debaucherous lifestyle.

Dad had hung Luke's portrait in the farthest corner. He probably thought someone like that wasn't even fit to be a backup option.

"Alfred," I called. Our family's butler, Alfred Winslow, entered. He still looked visibly stunned from what had happened earlier.

"Contact the Larsons and tell them I've agreed," I instructed.

Alfred looked even more taken aback than before, but he said nothing. He just gave a nod and then left the room.

Before night fell, I heard footsteps in the garden. I knew it was Jim. I remained seated in the pavilion with a teacup in hand, waiting for him to come to me.

He stood in front of me with eyes bloodshot from crying.

"Why?" Jim asked in a very hoarse voice.

I set the teacup down before looking at him. "Why what?"

"Why are you doing this to me?" he answered in a trembling voice. "I know you're angry, Cece, but—"

"But what?" I cut him off. "You brought a pregnant woman home and then knelt before my father, begging to marry her. Am I supposed to congratulate you both ecstatically?"

Jim paled. "It's not like that. Please, let me explain—"

He pulled something out of his jacket. It was a pendant made from a bullet casing. Its surface had been polished smooth. It was clearly something he kept close and handled frequently.

"This is the good luck charm you gave me. I've carried it with me for the past three years. I never forgot you, Cece," Jim said.

I reached out, took the pendant from his hand, and weighed it in my palm. Then, I casually tossed it aside. The pendant arched through the air and fell into the pond with a splash.

"I don't want dirty things or sullied people," I stated plainly. Jim's face instantly drained of all color. He swayed on his feet, barely able to stay upright.

Anne appeared at that moment and supported Jim by his arm. Then, she looked at me with doe eyes.

When she spoke, her voice was saccharine and laced with subtle smugness. "Cecilia, Jim really misses you. Every night, he stares at your photo and whispers your name over and over again."

Then, Anne pulled out an old phone. The screen showed Jim's chat history with me. Line after line, all the messages I had sent him over the past three years were displayed.

"Jimmy never got his phone fixed, so he never saw any of these messages. What a pity," she added.

As Anne said this, a glint of triumph flashed across her eyes. I chuckled. "Since when do outsiders get to pass judgment in my family's home?"

Then, I nodded toward the guards behind me. "See them out."

The guards stepped forward immediately.

Jim looked like he wanted to resist. But when his eyes met my cold and unyielding gaze, he backed down and left with Anne.

…

The next day, I heard a strange sound from beyond the courtyard wall. A guard burst in, looking flustered. "Ms. Forrest, someone just climbed over the back wall."

My pen froze mid-air. I couldn't believe someone dared to break into the Forrest estate in this day and age. I set the pen down and stood up slowly.

In the backyard, a man was sprawled out lazily on a lounge chair. Dressed in a bright pink suit, he had a blade of grass in his mouth and had one leg crossed over the other. He looked completely at ease, as though this were his own private garden.